A few years ago, during a visit to Idaho and the wine region that was newly taking shape there, three key takeaways took hold in my mind:

1. Idaho has abundant sources of natural water to hydrate its vineyards. This means that, generally speaking, vineyards there do not struggle for water nor do they need to be irrigated.
2. Idaho’s wine regions are burdened unfortunately by the political designation of “Idaho,” even though its climate and geography share similarities with its border neighbors of Oregon (and the Snake River Valley AVA, or American Viticultural Area) and Washington state (and the Lewis-Clark Valley AVA).
3. I should buy real estate in Idaho.

Famous last words, indeed.

Some eight years later, a reassessment of the scene, pre- and post-COVID: Idaho is still blessed with abundant water, though the supply is reasonably stressed by the spike in population during and after COVID. Idaho wine is still burdened by the non-traditional (for wine) designation of “Idaho,” though plenty of positive developmental strides have been taken to position the local industry favorably in consumers’ and the media’s minds.

And I still should have bought real estate in Idaho. (See “population spike” and “abundant water” as rationale, but that’s another story.)

When the opportunity arose recently to taste through a series of wines from Idaho, I agreed enthusiastically. Then, when the shipment of wines arrived, my enthusiasm grew even more. The shipment included a sparkling wine (under a crown cap! from 2019, no less) that highlighted Idaho’s 3100 river miles in the state; a Chardonnay with a label telling exactly the kind of story your imagination wants to hear about Idaho (think Basque immigrant, sheep herders, and a fateful gulch); and a Petit Verdot “Trout Series” (because Idaho) that carried me through the food prep for the dinner I’d serve for friends who’d come to taste through the wines with us.

The scene was set, and bolstered in Idaho’s favor even further by the guest who’d grown up in Idaho as a boy and was ready and more than willing to give Idaho wine the benefit of the doubt. (See “unfortunate political designation,” above.) Let me cut to the chase, though, with three new takeaways that took hold in my mind that night:

1. The wines we tried did Idaho proud.
2. These wines would stand on their own, whether they’re labeled “Idaho” or not, and whether or not that prejudices consumers. I’d encourage consumers to take (and taste) them at face value, so to speak. This Chardonnay right here in my glass. That Tempranillo in its own right. This other Petit Verdot that is simply delicious, not to mention versatile. They measure up. Period.
3. I would still buy real estate in Idaho. More to the point, I would buy real estate in Idaho that would turn into vineyards.

The truth is that I have no idea how easy it will be for readers of this column to find or buy or taste wines from Idaho. Believe me, I wish it were EASIER than whatever your answer is to that likelihood. Which means that readers are now officially assigned the task of ASKING for wines from Idaho from their favorite local bottle shop. You will most likely be looked at strangely — get ready for it — but I strongly encourage you to hold your ground. These wines are good. They are reasonably priced. They are unusual. They will start a conversation. You can put them in brown paper bags for a holiday party and pour them blind in comparison to a more common expression of any of these grapes, and the Idaho wines will win. And then you get to be victorious, and you’ll be known as the person who brought the most interesting wine to the table.

Who wouldn’t want to come to THAT holiday party this season?

Count me in. Especially if you’re pouring any of these favorites, all from the Snake River Valley AVA of Idaho.

2019 3100 Cellars “Whitewater” Sparkling Wine

2023 Dude DeWalt Cellars Chardonnay

2021 Hat Ranch Winery Tempranillo

2020 Trout Series Petit Verdot by Sawtooth Winery